


So You Tell All the Fellas From Me

by Athenowl



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, There is some violence in the Refuge and in the fight, This is an angst fest for a while, but not enough for the "Graphic Violence" warning, even though it's sad everything is okay in the end, snyder is an asshole, the Delancey brothers aren't mindless villains, the relationships are Soft (TM), uhhh strong language whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-04-24 07:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenowl/pseuds/Athenowl
Summary: Jack thought they would be okay when the bulls showed up.Then the man with the shiny silver badge backhanded Romeo and the kid dropped like a stone, throwing everything back into chaos once more.Canon Era AU where Crutchie is not the only newsie locked up in the Refuge after the fight. However, the danger follows them out even after the Refuge is shut down for good.





	1. Chapter 1

Jack thought they would be okay when the bulls showed up.

Then the man with the shiny silver badge backhanded Romeo and the kid dropped like a stone, throwing everything back into chaos. People were yelling, fists were flying, and papes blaring headlines about the trolley strike fluttered down around them as the thugs took the upper hand.

“Hey!” Les’ frantic voice rang in Jack’s ears as he hauled one of the Delancey’s off Henry. A policeman had Les by the arm and was dragging him away from the fight, handcuffs gleaming in his pocket.

Jack rushed forward, but Davey beat him to the punch and tackled the officer, giving Les time to get out of the way and run to Jack. Davey wrestled the larger man into the sea of violence and hurried to his brother’s side as Jack led them both behind an overturned newspaper wagon, shouting over the noise. “Davey, take Les and get out of here. We ain’t gonna win this one.”

Davey frowned. “There’s no way I’m leaving you behind. Les, go home and tell Ma what happened, I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Those bulls will be prowling the streets and they know Les is with us.” Jack stepped in front of Davey and put a hand on his chest. “You stay with him and you stay safe—”

“Jack!” Elmer stumbled over, clutching his arm as his coffee-brown eyes shone with fear. Les gasped and grabbed the edge of Davey's sleeve when he saw the blood slowly spreading along Elmer's sleeve. “Jack, they called the Refuge.” 

Jack clenched his jaw, taking both Jacobs brothers by the collar and practically throwing them out of the square. “Go. You don’t have much time.” A sharp cry of agony echoed off the nearby buildings and Jack turned back, praying the pair made it home safely. Two brown-uniformed men were pulling Finch toward a wooden cart near the main street. Finch’s wrist was rapidly turning purple and his beloved slingshot clattered to the dirty cobblestones. “Elmer, I need you to get Tommy and start getting the boys out of here, okay?” 

Jack waded through the melee, but by the time the carriage was within reach, Finch was already locked inside and guards blocked anyone from coming too close. “Finch, hang on,” Jack shouted over the noise.

“Get out of here,” Finch said, his face drawn with pain. “The strike needs you. You gotta get Katherine out, she wouldn't listen to me.”

Jack whirled around and sure enough, there she was. Katherine Plumber stood beneath a tall scaffold, her notepad and pen clutched tightly in her shaking hands. “Finch, I’ll be back for you. Kath!” Katherine looked over at Jack with panic written all over her face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I-I came to get the story and then…” she trailed off, still scanning the scene.

“Screw the story, go!” Jack pointed to a nearby alley.

“Wait, Jack, I—” Katherine cut off with a shriek as one of the bulls threw Albert into the wall to her left and he crumpled, bleeding, at her feet.

“I said, go!” Jack socked the closest thug in the nose and tossed him to the ground. He might not be able to protect himself, but he could buy Katherine some time. “Splasher, get Al and go home!”

Splasher glanced over, but even that half second’s distraction proved to be a mistake. A man in a black bowler hat slammed his cane into Splasher’s ankles, sending the boy to his knees with a yelp. Thugs swarmed him until Tommy Boy and Mike barreled through and towed him away, along with a dazed yet struggling Race.

A chorus of shouts broke out as three Refuge men twisted Mush’s arms behind him and tried to manhandle him into a Refuge wagon. Mush fought like a cornered wildcat, kicking and spitting curses. “Jack, gimme a hand here!”

Jack barely heard him. The man with the bowler hat was strolling ever closer, his silver-tipped cane tapping in that oh-so-familiar pattern.

Tip. 

Tap.

Tip.

Tap.

Snyder.

Jack’s vision tunneled and he could barely breathe as his memories of the Refuge crawled up from the dark corner where he shoved them away. The snap-crackle-POP of fire sounded somewhere to his right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Snyder had spotted him-- a sickening grin twisted his mouth and Jack could barely choke out a small "Oh, God, no" before turning and running for his life. He didn’t stop moving until he was two stories up the nearest fire escape with his heart in his throat.

He stared down at Newsie Square, every muscle frozen so tight that he began to shake. Katherine was nowhere to be seen, but Crutchie’s panicked voice split the air as he begged for someone, anyone, to save him.

Jack watched as the Delancey brothers landed blow after blow on his best friend until he went quiet.

He watched as they threw Albert, still unconscious, into the wagon with Finch and the blurry forms of more of his boys.

He watched as a billy club smacked into Mush’s temple and the boy went limp. He watched, and he hated himself for it.

Jack stood there until the square was empty and the streetlamps began to flicker to life with ice and fire running through his veins. Only then could he finally force his body to cooperate, and made his way down on wobbly legs.

He wandered aimlessly, carefully gathering the reminders of his failure. Finch’s slingshot. Albert’s hat. One of Romeo’s shoes.

The sun was nearly finished setting when Jack reached the Lodging House, turning the whole city golden for a moment. He entered in silence and the newsies quieted immediately, watching as Jack went around and placed the items on their owners’ beds. Once he was done he sat on the lowest step of the staircase leading to the roof and stared blankly at the floor. He knew he should say something, but the words just wouldn't come.

Race was the first to move. He stumbled to Albert’s bed and picked up the crushed cap with a choked wheeze, sitting down heavily on the bed and smoothing the creases from the brim with bruised hands. The other boys began to murmur among themselves, patching each other up and sending furtive looks Jack's way.

“Where were you, Jack?” Race’s voice was hoarse as he raised his head. “Where did you go?” Jack’s heart twisted. “We needed you, and you weren’t there. All of them,” Race gestured to the vacant beds. “they _all_ needed you. Christ, Jack, so many of us ran that we don’t even know who else Snyder got.”

He could barely feel his body anymore. _I’m sorry,_ he wanted to scream. _It’s my fault_.

“Just say something!” Race stood and hurled Albert’s cap at the wall, sucking in a sharp breath of pain. A wave of muttering broke out.

“Race—” Tommy Boy reached over, but Race pushed him away.

“You promised us nobody was gonna go back to that—that _hell_ ,” Race’s voice cracked on the last word. “You promised.”

“Everyone, take a deep breath,” JoJo stepped between Race and Jack placatingly, his hands rising slowly to prevent any aggression. “We’ll deal with this in the morning when we can get a solid headcount.”

“No, we won’t,” Race stepped forward, his fists curling. “You know why? Cause Jack here don’t care about the boys that just got dragged off to the Refuge.”

“That’s a lie.” Jack shot to his feet. The room vibrated with tension.

“Oh, he speaks.” Race’s eyes sparked with rage.

“You want the truth, Higgins? I ran,” Jack spat out. The words were bitter in his mouth, but they wouldn’t stop flowing. “I saw Snyder and I ran like hell, and I saw every second after. I heard Crutchie and Mush calling for help and I couldn’t move a damn muscle. I saw a couple o’ thugs cuff Henry and toss him into a wagon with Finch. I saw the bulls throw Albert against a wall, pull Ike out of a stack of burnin’ papes, and lock ‘em both up. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You son of a—” Race launched himself at Jack, but JoJo and Tommy held him back. Noise exploded around Jack and his head began to spin, the full weight of what he had done crashing down around him. He scrambled up the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted for the safety of the rooftop.

“Oh, sure, run away,” Race yelled after him with a voice full of pain. “Run like you always do!”

It was not until Jack was safe in his penthouse that he finally felt something. He sobbed, he shouted, and he sketched until the sun began to rise and his fingers went numb, which was his cue to sneak into the Bowery and curl up behind a stack of old canvases. The circulation bell was a cruel reminder of the family Jack had just left alone—they would find him eventually, but he had a little time yet.


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark.

So dark.

Albert felt like he was floating through a void, with nothing tying him to Earth except—“Uggghhh.” Feeling flooded back into his battered body, and he quickly decided it was not welcome.

“Al? Al!” That was a familiar voice, at least.

“Finch?” Albert cracked his eyes open and immediately regretted it as blurry blobs and bright lights filled his vision. He squinted at the nearest shape and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.

“Romeo! Al’s awake,” Finch’s face shifted into focus. “You scared the hell outta us.”

“You’re welcome,” Albert made to sit up but quickly laid back down as his stomach flipped. “Where are we?”

“Albert!” Romeo’s cheerful voice was like a chainsaw against the previous blessed quiet. “Oh, you don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Albert gritted out. “Just…keep it down.” The blotchy shapes from before began solidifying, which allowed him to finally get a good look at his surroundings. Rows of bunk beds, a dirt-coated floor, one barred window. A stone sank in Albert’s gut. “We’re in the Refuge.”

Romeo’s smile slipped off his face. “Yeah. Bulls rounded a bunch of us up at the strike. Henry and Ike are keepin’ an eye on Mush, and Snyder hauled Crutchie off about an hour ago.”

“Are they okay?” Albert scanned the beds for his friends, but everyone’s faces blended together in the dim light.

“Henry’s got some bruises and a twisted ankle, and Ike fell into some papes that someone set on fire so his arm ain’t so good,” Finch inclined his head at a nearby bunk with three boys in it. “Mush has drifted in and out for the past couple days, they soaked him real bad. Romeo and I will be alright.”

“What’s’a matter with your arm?” Albert asked, noticing the angry purple-red color.

“It’s nothing,” Finch tucked his hand into his pocket and winced.

Albert frowned. “How’s Crutchie doin’?” Finch and Romeo shared a look.

“Bulls beat him with his crutch before taking him away. He wasn’t walking so good, last I saw him. They keep trying to get information about the strike.”

“Shit,” Albert muttered, rubbing his hands over his eyes and stared up at the window. “We gotta get out of here.”

“How?” Henry limped over and leaned on the bedpost. “Window’s barred and the door locks from outside.”

“Yeah, I know, dipshit,” Albert forced himself to sit up a little higher and grimaced as his back cracked in protest. “This ain’t my first time in the Refuge.”

Romeo’s eyes filled with hope. “Well, how’d you escape last time?”

“I didn’t. My sentence was short, couple months or so, and I waited it out with some other guys.” Romeo deflated. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“Ike, how’s Mush?” Finch called. Ike wiggled his hand in a ‘so-so’ motion and went back to tending the nasty bruise on Mush’s temple. Henry turned to respond, but the door slammed open and all the boys scrambled out of the way.

Snyder strode in and tossed a battered-looking Crutchie to the ground by his collar. He groaned softly as Snyder nudged him with the toe of his boot. “Quit your moaning, crip. Who’s next?” Snyder’s gray-blue eyes surveyed the room before landing on Albert. “You. Morris, get that one.” Fear bolted through Albert as Morris lumbered over with a gleam in his eye, but it amplified by a hundred when those meaty hands closed over Romeo’s arm instead. “Let’s see if you’re a little more talkative. Sleep tight, boys!”

A protective instinct overtook Albert's fear immediately and he was about to protest, but Finch clapped a hand over his mouth and held him still until the door locked again. “Get off me,” Albert snarled, shoving the older newsie away with the little strength he could muster. "What the fuck was that for?"

“You were gonna pull some hero-type bullshit and take Romeo’s place, weren’t you?” Finch scowled. Albert opened his mouth to bite back with a retort, but Finch plowed on. “You can barely sit up. If Snyder took you into that basement you’d be dead by the time it was over and I am not about to lose you or anyone else in this place.”

“So we just sit here and wait as Snyder beats down on us?” Albert's voice had risen to a near-shout. “I don’t think so.”

“Jesus Christ Albert, he’ll kill us all! Snyder will do anything if it means getting Jack in jail. Believe me, I would trade myself for Romeo right now if I thought it would help but someone’s gotta make sure we all stay in one piece and it sure as hell ain’t you.” Albert couldn't think of a good enough comeback, so he settled for glaring and hoped that got the message across. 

“Guys? What’s going on?” With a final huff, Finch walked to Mush’s bed and brought him up to date in a low voice.

“Well, I think you’ve officially become the first person to well and truly piss Finch off,” Crutchie said as Henry helped him into a nearby bunk. “Congratulations.”

Albert ran a hand through his hair and sighed. His head was pounding. “Looks like it. How you holding up?”

“Been better. Thought you’d never wake up.”

“More like hopin' for it,” Albert teased.

“Just wanted a little peace and quiet for once ‘s all.” Crutchie shot back with a grin.

“Hey, scootch over,” Ike yawned, scratching at the makeshift bandages on his arm. A few stray blisters near his elbow showed over the edge of the rags. “I’m tired.” He stretched out next to Crutchie and was dead asleep in moments. Albert caught a glimpse of twinkling stars through the bars of the window and the gleam of moonlight just beyond.

“Y’know Al, Ike’s got the right idea,” Crutchie looked at Albert with worry etched on his face. “You’ll heal faster if you sleep.”

“Not tired.” _Never will be in here_ , he thought. “I’m gonna wait up for Romeo. Get some rest, you need it more than I do.” Crutchie hesitated, then settled back against an ancient pillow as his eyelids slid shut.

Snyder didn’t bring Romeo back for another half hour, when the bunk room was pitch black and most boys were fast asleep. Finch tried to help him into a bed, but Romeo waved him off halfheartedly and slid in next to Albert beneath their paper-thin sheet. At least the summer heat kept them from freezing.

“Hey.” Albert squinted at Romeo’s face, but it was too dark to see much other than a black eye. “Snyder just wanted to talk, huh?”

“Yeah.” Romeo rolled over and wiped a hand under his nose.

 _Fuck_ , Albert thought as he stared at the window. He tried to imagine the Lodging House, with its comparatively comfortable mattresses and soft candlelight. At least three lanterns were always lit for the littles who were still afraid of the dark; here, one solitary candle burned weakly in the overcrowded room and only succeeded in casting more eerie shadows. Albert missed home.

Home.

It felt like someone had just punched him in the chest, leaving a gaping hole in its place. The last time he had been in the Refuge was six years ago, before he became a newsie and found the best family anyone could ask for. He had been so alone, a frightened ten-year-old with no idea what he did to deserve his sentence. This time was different: Albert was older now, tougher. He had been locked in for doing what was right, and that made him more angry than afraid.

Still, the hole didn't get any smaller as he tried in vain to convince himself that they would all be okay.

\----------

Two days passed without a visit from Snyder. All the boys, even the non-newsies, tensed each time the door swung open for food or another prisoner. Mush was able to sit up and stay awake for more than a few minutes by the second day, which was a relief to them all. Albert felt fine after the extra rest, aside from slight dizziness every once and a while.

On the fourth night in the Refuge, Crutchie gathered the seven newsies around him and revealed two sheets of wrinkled paper, along with a few pencils. “Specs came by this mornin’ and dropped these off, said he’d be back around midnight.” He split the papers as evenly as he could among the seven of them. “I figured we could write to the others, send a little encouragement.”

“You are the best, Crutch,” Ike breathed as he stared down at his pencil like it was the Holy Grail itself.

“Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’.” Crutchie smirked and limped to the candle, paper clutched tightly in one hand. Most of the other inmates were fast asleep, which meant it was safe to write without being bothered or stolen from.

After a while, Albert grew impatient. There were only four pencils between the seven of them so they had to share, and Romeo was taking forever. “Come on, Rome, hurry it up!”

“I’ll be done in a second.” Romeo hissed back.

“That what you said ten minutes ago!”

“Ah, shut up.”

“Screw you.”

“You wish, Red.”

Albert rolled his eyes and fiddled with the edge of his paper, doing his best not to start ripping the edges restlessly. Finally, Romeo finished his note and threw the pencil at Albert’s head, snickering softly as his victim made a rude gesture in response. Albert knelt by the wavering candle and tried to find a semi-comfortable position that did not involve grinding sand and dirt into his knees.

_Dear Race,_

_How are you? I’m ~~doing alright~~ ~~hanging in there~~ just fine. I guess that wall was harder than my head, huh? Don’t worry, I feel great now. The others are doing well, too. Tell Jack to be careful walking around because Snyder wants information about the strike._

Albert tapped his pencil against the paper.

_It’s funny, Racer. The Refuge looks the same as when we were here, but…it’s smaller, somehow. Do you remember when we were here? You had already been here a month, but I showed up all by myself and you bounded right over in that nasty old flannel that I know you still have. You smiled then, and it was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen. The window here still has bars, but I’m tall enough now to see the sky through them. Sometimes I swear it’s the same color as your eyes._

_I miss the Lodging House, and I miss our friends. Finch is still pissed at me (I’ll explain later) and even Romeo's getting gloomy. I miss the sun and the fresh air and running through the streets with my best friend. That’s you, by the way._

_Tell the boys hello from me, and to kick Pulitzer’s ass from here to Jersey. Racer, don’t get into too much trouble without me. Never stop fighting._

_~~Love~~ _ _, ~~Your best friend~~ , Your partner in crime,_

_Albert_

_P.S. Tell Splasher to feed the cats out back while I'm gone_

_P.P.S Specs, keep your eyes to your own damn letters_

Albert finished the last sentence just as a gentle knock came from the window. Romeo clambered up to the ledge eagerly with everyone’s letters and pushed them through the bars to Specs, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to Specs’ cheek with a smile. Specs saluted the rest of the boys and disappeared from view, no doubt weighing whose letter he would snoop on first. Albert didn’t know what tomorrow held, but he was sure anything would be better than the ache in his chest right then.


	3. Chapter 3

Race considered himself lucky. He had escaped the fight with a black eye and one broken rib; compared to some of the others, he was practically unscathed.

But rage and betrayal toward Jack burned hot alongside fear for the boys who had been taken. Race would never forget Albert’s slack features as he slid to the ground with a thin line of blood trickling down his face, or the desperation in Mush's voice when the policemen grabbed him. He saw Romeo collapsing like a dead weight in his nightmares and woke up sweating after hearing echoes of Crutchie’s cries for help.

So physically Race was fine, but everything else was a jumbled and confusing and scary. When Jack finally approved a visit to the Refuge, hope flooded through him. He would know whether his friends were alive at last.

The Lodging House was unusually quiet while the boys waited for Specs to return. Mike sat on his bed and picked at his nails. Race paced back and forth, his whole body shaking with nervous energy until Blink told him to either ‘take his jittery ass outside or sit down’. Jack simply waited by the window, stock-still and breathing shallowly.

It was a brutally long time.

When the door flew open and an out-of-breath Specs came tumbling in with a wad of paper in his sweaty hands, the newsies immediately began peppering him with a barrage of questions: Was everyone okay? How did so-and-so look? Was Snyder there? Did Specs run into any trouble?

“That’s enough,” Jack said, silencing the crowd. A familiar stab of resentment pinched in Race's gut. “Specs, c’mere.” The pair disappeared to the rooftop and everyone else crowded around the base of the stairwell, straining to hear the conversation.

Beneath his frustration, Race’s heart pounded. Jack rarely called anyone up to his penthouse unless he had very bad news, which meant he thought something terrible happened. “What d’you think they’re talking about?” Buttons whispered, only to be loudly shushed by the rest. “Sorry.”

“What if someone got really hurt?” JoJo’s voice quavered and Race’s mouth went dry.

“Nah, I’m sure Jack’s just bein’ careful,” Race said, squeezing JoJo’s shoulder reassuringly. “He’s probably just lettin’ Specs talk without getting interrupted by all of us.”

 _But what if he was right?_ a nasty little voice in Race’s head muttered. _What if they’re talking about Albert?_ Race shut his eyes and gripped the railing tight. _Get ahold of yourself, idiot_.

Two thugs had ganged up on Race the day of the fight: one held his arms as the other hit him over and over and _over_ again. Albert had come out of nowhere and taken down the one throwing punches but failed to see the second man coming toward him. Race had been too out of it to do much except shout a warning, but he was too late.

The next thing he knew Albert was colliding with a wall and someone--Katherine?-- was screaming. Tommy Boy tried to pull Race out of the way, but Race fought to reach his best friend, even though his head was swimming and every breath hurt. In the end, it took both Tommy and Buttons to drag Race to safety, where he promptly blacked out as his broken rib crashed into the corner of the distribution table.

When Race woke up, Jack was still gone and everything was in shambles. Race suddenly had to organize the remaining newsies and take on that leadership—he did his best, but between the devastation of losing the strike and mass panic from missing seven newsies there simply wasn’t enough of him to help everywhere. When Jack showed up at last Race cracked under the pressure and said some things he still regretted days later. If any of those seven boys in the Refuge had been harmed due to Race’s failure as a stand-in leader, he would never forgive himself.

Footsteps in the stairwell sent newsies scattering into the bunk room as they tried and failed to appear as if they had not been eavesdropping. Jack’s face was pale but relieved, while Specs seemed to have regained his breath. “All the boys are alive,” Jack said, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “Specs brung us some letters they wrote, so I’ll pass those out in a minute. I know it’s been a rough few days, and I’m sorry for the way things went down in the square. If anyone wants to talk, I’m here.”

He handed two letters to Elmer, who hopped up on the windowsill and began to read Henry and Finch's letters aloud. Race was about to join the group when Jack pulled him aside and held out one carefully-folded slip of paper. “It’s Al’s,” Jack said quietly. “He addressed it specifically to you.”

Race took it with unsteady hands. “Thanks, Jack.” They hadn’t spoken since the night of the fight and it felt strange to be face-to-face with him again. Four days apart is a long time when you’ve spent years following in someone’s footsteps. “Look, I—I’m sorry about what I said. Y’know, after the fight. I didn’t have any right to do that to you. We both did what we could, and I guess in the end it wasn’t enough.”

Jack didn’t say a word and for a moment Race was afraid he wouldn’t be forgiven. Then Jack stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug, which Race returned enthusiastically. “You’re a good kid, Racer, and you’ll be a better leader. Don’t be blamin’ yourself for where I failed. We both said things we didn’t mean, but I deserved a wake-up call like that. Now go read your letter, little brother. I think the fire escape is open.”

The fire escape was cool and calming when Race arrived. It was one of those rare nights in late July when a breeze blew through the city with comforting warmth instead of blistering heat or icy cold. Race sat against the outer wall of the Lodging House and unfolded the letter, smiling at Albert’s neat handwriting.

 _Do you remember the day we met?_ How could he not? Albert DaSilva had been changing Race’s life for the better since day one.

 _That’s you, by the way_. Race laughed softly and ran his fingers over the careful letters. His best friend. God, could it really be only four nights since that horrid day when everything went wrong? Race would give anything to have Albert next to him on those cold metal stairs, even if they were both battered and bruised.

“Hey, Race, come on in before we lock up,” Mike stuck his head out the window and Race startled.

“Huh?’

Mike rolled his eyes. “Get your butt inside unless you plan on sleepin’ out here tonight, ‘cause I ain’t gonna wake up to let you in.”

“Oh, right.” Race shook his head to clear his thoughts and clambered back into the Lodging House, where everyone else was already in their bunks. Instead of climbing into his bed, however, Race padded across the room to one of the lanterns and held Albert’s letter up to read the last few sentences.

His throat tightened as he read the final sentence: _Your partner in crime, Albert_. Not ‘Sincerely’, not ‘Your Friend’, not even ‘Love’. No, this was far more personal and it made Race fully realize what a huge gap there was in his life without Albert after six years of friendship.

A smudge of graphite shone in the candlelight and Race squinted to read it. _P.S. Tell Splasher to feed the cats_. A laugh bubbled out of his chest and several boys shushed him, but Race was too preoccupied to care. Of course Albert would be worried about the damn cats at the end of his heartfelt, emotional letter. That was such an Albert thing to do, and if Race concentrated hard enough he could almost see the redhead leaning casually on the windowsill, watching the striped kitten that always came by to stick his tiny orange paws in the milk dish.

Race read over Albert’s letter from the Refuge once more before silently slipping into his bed and laying so that he could look out the window at the peaceful night. _I promise, Al_ , Race thought as he drifted off in the half-empty bed. _I promise I’ll never stop fighting until you’re next to me again._


	4. Chapter 4

Another fist slammed into Albert’s side, causing the air to rush from his lungs in a _whoosh_. “You and your big mouth, Red,” Oscar snarled as Morris pulled Albert’s arms further back. “Woulda thought you’d learn to be careful what you say by now.”

“Oh, you overestimate my self-control,” Albert sucked in a rattling breath. Oscar took a swing and the cold sting of metal grazed his cheek. A warning shot, then.

“Tell us names!” Morris barked.

“Whose names?”

“The strike leaders, idiot,” Oscar was seething at this point; sweat dripped down his face, but the violence in his eyes remained unwavering.

Albert whistled lowly. “Watch who you’re calling an idiot, Oscar. Seems a little ironic to me. Oops, sorry, forgot you don’t understand those big words.”

Morris shook Albert hard, rattling his brain as pain lanced through his shoulders. “Names. Now.”

“Fuck you,” Albert panted. Oscar’s fist reared back and slammed across Albert’s face, sending starbursts of color through his vision and a stream of blood from his nose.

“Who is helping Jack Kelly with the strike?”

“Your mother.” The insult was childish but based on the rapid purpling of Oscar’s face it did the trick. _A little too well_ , Albert thought as the next punch landed squarely on his kidney.

“Give us information and we’ll let you go.” Albert raised his head and spat the runoff blood from his nose directly into Oscar’s face. The shorter Delancey reeled in shock, and that moment of pause was plenty of time for Albert to kick Morris in the kneecap and break free of his hold. Contrary to popular belief, Albert was not a complete moron. He knew the fight wouldn’t last long, but all he could see as he shoved Oscar Delancey to the ground were the previous night’s brass-knuckle marks on Romeo’s young skin and Crutchie dragging himself into bed, unable to put any weight at all on his bad leg. The surprise on Oscar’s face was incredibly satisfying, as was the rapidly-forming bruise on his cheek, but Albert barely had time to enjoy it before Morris recovered and threw him to the cold concrete floor. Then the kicks began, and they never seemed to end.

By the time the Delancey’s grew tired, Albert couldn’t process a thing except the salty tears cutting through blood and grime on his face. He coughed weakly, desperate to get some air into his lungs. Suddenly, all Albert wanted was for Jack to show up and take him home already.

The basement door creaked open and Albert heard someone enter. “Has he said anything?” Snyder’s nasal voice echoed off the walls.

“Nothing.” Albert could have sworn there was a hint of fear in Oscar’s tone.

“Well, get him up then!” Snyder said, his cane clicking closer. “I told you not to stop until you find something useful.”

Albert braced himself for the inevitable pain, but nothing came. The Delancey brothers didn’t even touch him. “He’s unconscious. Went out about five minutes ago.” Well, that was a straight-up lie. Was Morris actually protecting him? No, there was no way those two thugs would ever stick their necks out for any newsie.

Snyder snorted with disgust. “Fine. Take him back up like the others. I expect better results next time.”

Morris wrapped an arm under one of Albert’s shoulders and half-carried him to the bunk room, where he was dropped unceremoniously on the floor. “Your valiant hero,” Oscar mocked. “You’ll crack soon enough.”

“Yeah, right.” Albert summoned the last of his strength and stood up, his knees knocking together. A shadow passed over Oscar’s face as he shut and locked the door, something that wasn’t bloodlust or fear. Albert thought it was close to sadness, but then again he was in too much pain to get a good read. As soon as the deadbolt slid into place Albert’s legs gave out beneath him and someone’s gentle hands caught him around the middle.

Exhaustion hit like a brick to the face and suddenly all Albert wanted to do was to sleep for the next hundred years. His head pounded, and his lungs hurt like he had been breathing acid. “Hey, I can walk,” he mumbled half-heartedly. “I’m completely fine.”

“Sure you are. Just take it easy, I got you,” Finch rolled his eyes as he helped Albert stumble to a bunk. “What in the fresh hell did you do this time?”

“May or may not have told Oscar to fuck off,” Albert’s eyes began to close. The warm, comforting darkness of sleep grew nearer and nearer with each painful breath. “ ’Nd I punched him in the face.”

“Hey, no sleep until Mush gives the all-clear,” Finch snapped his fingers under Albert’s nose and tilted his face up. “Gotta make sure your brain’s intact.”

“It’s never been ‘tact, you know that.” Albert tried to push Finch’s hands away from his face but really couldn’t raise them more than a few inches off the bed. It sounded like pretty birds were singing in his ears. “Swear I’m okay.”

Finch gave him a disbelieving look. “Al, your face looks like roadkill.”

“Hey!”

“Finch is right,” Mush said as he began rubbing a damp rag across Albert’s face and neck. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“I could use a little good news.” Albert leaned against the coolness of the cloth to gain some momentary relief.

“Well, your nose ain’t broken,” Mush poked the tip of his nose cheerfully. “Bad news is that shiner’ll take at least a day for you to see out of.”

“If Blink can do it, so can I. Now let me sleep.”

Somewhere above him, Mush sighed. “Fine, but if you feel sick, tell me. Oh, and don’t lay on your back. And don’t touch your face or—”

“Let him be, Mush,” Albert saw Finch gently guiding Mush toward Romeo and Henry, who were playing jacks. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“So, you decided to forgive me?” Albert tried to grin as Finch sat at the foot of the bunk, but a yawn interrupted him. Finch was probably Albert’s best friend after Race—it was killing him to think Finch was angry with him.

The corners of Finch’s mouth tugged up. “Just go to bed, Roadkill.”

The dark closed in and then Albert was back on the fire escape of the Lodging House, staring out over the city as a cold wind bit through his thin shirt. Something moved in the darkness next to him and he jumped, only to find himself looking at one Racetrack Higgins. Of course Race was here. Albert couldn’t remember a time he ever came out on the fire escape alone.

Moonlight scythed down through patches of clouds and illuminated Race’s whole body, from his golden curls to his beat-up old boots. Everything was calm and peaceful, except for the wind that whistled past the wooden wall behind them.

“Race?”

“Hmm?” Race took a long drag of his cigar and blew the smoke out at the fog-covered sky.

“You’re actually here, right? This ain’t a dream?” Something felt strange about the whole scenario, but Albert couldn’t place his finger on it. Then Race’s eyes flickered over to him and all sense of suspicion disappeared.

Race smiled and Albert’s stomach filled with butterflies. “Course I am. C’mere, I’ll prove it." He leaned in with a troublemaker’s smirk, but just before their lips connected the dream melted away like newspapers in the rain.

Albert jerked back to reality with a gasp. “Rise and shine, you’ve been out for hours,” Ike paused his card game long enough to raise an eyebrow. “How ya feeling?”

Albert blinked for a moment and tried to get his bearings as memories filtered back in. The butterfly feeling petered out and twinges of soreness replaced it. “Not so good.”

Ike frowned. “Hang on, I’ll get Mush.”

“No, it’s alright,” Albert quickly waved him off. “Just a dream.” _Just a dream_ , he thought. _‘cause Race is God knows where and the strike might have failed and you’re in the Refuge now._ There was a tightness in Albert’s throat, but he truly couldn’t tell whether it was from Oscar’s fists or something else that was just as painful.

Albert looked around the bunk room, where upwards of a hundred boys were crammed together. They were all grimy and dirt-streaked; water was scarce, and washing was the least of their concerns. Now that he thought about it, Albert couldn’t recall the last time one of the guards had dropped off food. Even Henry, with his large, muscular frame, was beginning to look thin and bony.

It had been eight days since the fight. Eight days since the world decided to shove a whole bunch of suffering down on Albert and his friends. Albert sat up and leaned against the bedpost as he tried to imagine the outside world. The sky was turning pastel outside the window—Jack was sure to be hunched over a piece of paper with his cheap paints right now.

He smiled. They would make it through the Refuge. They would make it back to their friends, their _family_ , and be able to see the full sunset without bars in front of it soon enough. Crutchie whooped triumphantly as he snatched up the last jacks and laughed as Romeo tossed his own pile at him in revenge. Hope wasn’t dead yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I just realized I did not include any notes in my previous chapters, so I suppose now is as good a time as any. It's my summer break right now, so I will be updating whenever I can. Thank you so much for reading my story and all comments/ kudos are highly appreciated. I love you all and hope you have a wonderful day!


	5. Chapter 5

Romeo’s faith in escaping was fading fast. The seven Manhattan newsboys had heard neither hide nor hair of anyone outside the Refuge since Specs dropped by to pick up the letters. Romeo knew it was probably too dangerous for another visit, but that didn’t stop him from watching out the window each night in hopes of seeing a tall, skinny newsboy darting down the road toward him.

 Even surrounded by dozens of other prisoners and seven of his friends, the Refuge was beginning to feel lonely without Specs. Romeo had never thought of himself as anything special; sure, he joked around and acted cocky, but he knew he was just another young newsie the older boys had to look after. But Specs? Brilliant, quick Specs? Well, he always made Romeo feel like he was unique. Like he mattered.

Romeo and Specs had been best friends for nearly three years when the strike happened. Romeo remembered how excited they were for some action in the otherwise monotonous life of a newsboy. He went into the whole thing thinking this would be something fun and adventurous, but it ended up going south so fast it left Romeo’s head spinning. Before he knew it, Specs was miles away and Romeo was locked up for what could be forever.

The first night in the Refuge had been frightening enough: Romeo woke up with a raging headache and no idea where he was, and when he looked around he saw six of his friends in varying states of injury. The panic in Finch’s normally-controlled eyes as he checked on Mush and Albert had shaken Romeo to his very core. The realness of their nightmarish situation hit home that first dark night as the single candle sputtered out, plunging Romeo into endless shadows. He never did like the dark.

That reality and the accompanying fear continued as the violent questionings began. Snyder paid attention to the other boys most of the time, once he realized Romeo didn’t know anything important about the strike. It had only taken one shakedown for the warden to understand the uselessness of Romeo’s knowledge and send him back upstairs with horrible, snarled insults and bruises on his face.

It was because of this Romeo knew something was different when Snyder brought him back downstairs.

Ten days was a long time to stay cooped up in a dark, dirty room filled with boys who hadn’t bathed in ages, so the metallic tang of the basement air was downright refreshing compared to the stifling summer heat of the bunk room. Romeo shivered as Morris Delancey shoved him into the freezing concrete bunker. “Do whatever you want, my mouth’s staying shut.”

“I’m well aware of that, Romeo.” Snyder’s thin lips twitched into a smirk as he brushed past and Romeo’s stomach turned. When the other newsies said his name, it was like sunshine coming out from dark clouds. This vile old man made it sound like a curse. “Bring him in, Oscar.”

The basement door creaked open and Oscar Delancey hauled Crutchie in by the back of his shirt. “Hey, watch where you’re —Romeo?” Crutchie glanced between Romeo and Snyder. “What’s goin’ on?”

Snyder sneered at the newsboys. “I’m trying a new tactic. Morris, hold the little one steady.”

Crutchie pulled against Oscar’s tight grip. “You better not lay a hand on him or I’ll—"

“Or you’ll what?” Snyder turned back to Crutchie for a moment. “Call Jack Kelly for help? As I recall, he left you here to rot.”

“He didn’t leave us,” Romeo said. The mere suggestion that the great leader of the Manhattan newsboys would ever abandon his friends, his _brothers_ , was unfathomable. “Jack would never.”

“Romeo, be quiet,” Crutchie warned as he kept his eyes trained on the warden. Strangely, Romeo saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. _That’s ridiculous_ , he thought. _Crutchie would never believe Jack left us behind_.

“You poor, hopeful boy,” Snyder sighed. “I bet he hasn’t given you a second thought since the fight.”     

Crutchie shook his head. “I don’t know what your game is, but it ain’t gonna work. I’ll never tell you what you wanna know.”

A shadow passed over Snyder’s face. “Have it your way. Just know that all of this is entirely preventable.” He hefted his cane above Romeo’s head.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Crutchie’s face went pale. “Don’t hurt him.”

“If you talk, the boy stays untouched,” Snyder adjusted his grip and glanced at Crutchie. “All I want is information.”

“I can’t.” Crutchie’s voice broke and Romeo’s heart did as well.

“Tell me the names of the strike leaders,” Snyder said impatiently, raising the stick higher. A solid hit to the head from that could…well, Romeo didn’t want to think about that. Crutchie bit his lip and looked over at Romeo.

“I’ll be fine, Crutchie, don’t say anything,” Romeo said, summoning every bit of courage he could to force his fear down and keep the quiver out of his voice.

“Shut your mouth, roach,” Snyder scowled at Romeo. “It would be such a shame to leave this one for dead knowing you could have stopped it, Crutchie.” The older boy stayed silent, his gaze flickering between his friend and the one person who haunted every newsie’s dreams.

Snyder began the downswing. Romeo closed his eyes and braced for the impact.

“I’ll talk!” Crutchie shouted suddenly. The cane whooshed by Romeo’s ear and he let out an involuntary shriek.

“You will?” The cane clattered to the ground as Romeo cracked his eyes open.

Crutchie was visibly shaking and Romeo could see the desperation on his face. “I’ll talk, just leave him alone. I’m the one who was involved in the planning, not Romeo. He’s innocent.”

“Crutchie, stop it!” Romeo begged.

“Romeo, I’m so sorry,” Crutchie’s nose turned a faint shade of red and he sniffled. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt in here.”

“We get it, this is hard for you, now spit it out!” Snyder growled, picking up the cane again. “You better start talking in the next few seconds or the little one will wish he’d never been born.”

Crutchie took a deep breath and looked up at the warden with teary eyes. “It was me all along. I’m the one in charge of the whole strike. I came up with the original idea, the plan, everything. Jack was just the face for everyone else to see.”

 _Whaaaaaaaat?_ Well, that was a plot twist Romeo hadn’t seen coming. There was no way Crutchie could have come up with the strike plan, unless…Holy Biscuits, Crutchie Morris was lying to Snyder’s face.

“I saw the price hike first, and I was the one who suggested a strike.” Tears were flowing freely down Crutchie’s cheeks and Snyder was practically bouncing with joy. Romeo just stood there with his mouth hanging open as Crutchie gave the most convincing performance he had ever seen in fourteen years of life.

“And where are you striking next?” When Crutchie didn’t answer, Snyder shook his cane at Romeo. “Speak, boy, my threat still stands.”

“We’re going to finish the job with the wagons. Circulation desk, tomorrow afternoon at three.” Crutchie blinked up at Snyder with a devastated expression. “Please, Mr. Snyder, don’t tell the other boys what I said. Romeo, I’m sorry.”

Romeo stared, speechless.

“Take them back upstairs and show the rest of those gutter rats what happens when they listen to orders like they’re told,” Snyder waved a dismissive hand at the Delancey brothers. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Romeo shot a quick grin to Crutchie as they turned the corner to go up the stairs and was rewarded with a subtle wink in return. _Oh, Snyder_ , Romeo snickered internally. _You chose the wrong newsie to pick on._

In the end, Snyder the Spider never got the chance to wring more lies from Crutchie. The next morning the doors to the Refuge burst open and joy-filled shouts rang through the air. Romeo caught fragments of “Strike!” “Roosevelt!” and “Shut down!” echoing off the concrete walls, but he really couldn’t have cared less as he sprinted out of the prison and into the light of day, his friends hot on his heels.

Freedom at last, and it was sweeter than anything Romeo had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here she is, Chapter 5! Sorry about the long wait, I had to scrap and rewrite this entire chapter as it was not only extremely out of character but also useless. Many thanks to everyone who has read this far (you're the best!!) and here's to almost 200 reads!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little heated, but nothing explicit or serious as the main characters are, in fact, teenagers. If kissing makes you uncomfortable then feel free to skip those paragraphs!

Albert couldn’t get out of the Refuge fast enough. Kids of all ages flooded past him, screeching with giggles and whoops of joy as they ran headlong into the August heat. The newsboys were no exception: Finch clapped Albert on the back with his good hand before tearing down the road after Henry and Ike, who were swinging Romeo by his wrists and ankles like a jump rope between them.

“How’s it going over there, Shorty?” Albert called as Romeo reached the peak of his arc.

“I hate you!”

“Keep up, slowpokes,” Mush taunted from Finch’s back. “Bet you a nickel we’ll be home before all o’ you.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes. “Mush, you ain’t got a nickel.” Nevertheless, he followed suit and climbed up onto Henry as Romeo dusted himself off and perched on Ike. Albert found himself rider-less with Crutchie’s walking stick tucked awkwardly under one arm. “On your mark, get set, GO!”

They careened through the streets, shooting friendly jabs back and forth as they dodged vendors and pedestrians alike. Shouts and angry merchants followed in their wake, but the taste of liberty was too good to be sullied. Besides, when had disrupting the peace ever been a problem for a Manhattan newsie?

The Lodging House came into view far ahead and Albert could see the rest of his friends gathered in a crowd out front. Someone yelled, and all thoughts of lost nickels flew from his mind as the newsies swarmed them in a burst of noise, leaving a handful of deeply confused adults behind. Crutchie snatched his stick back from Albert and practically dove into the fray with a beaming smile from ear to ear.

Albert scanned the crowd frantically. _Where is he, where is he, where is he—_

His breath caught. _There_.

“Race!” Pale skin and a scattering of dark freckles shone in the sun as one tall boy turned around.

“Al?” All the air flew from Albert’s lungs as those sky-blue eyes lit up from within. "Al!" He rushed forward, barely registering the commotion around him, and collided with Race. Albert wrapped his arms around Race’s torso and lifted him off the ground, spinning them in circles with unrestrained excitement.

“I knew you’d win,” he said breathlessly when he finally set Race down. Race laughed that wonderful laugh, his head thrown back as he cradled Albert’s face in his hands. “I knew you could do it.”

Jack’s voice cut through the celebration. “Alright, everybody, calm down,” Despite his words, Jack’s own exhilaration was clear. “Mr. Jacobi promised us free seltzer and sandwiches for the next thirty minutes, so get your asses movin’ !” A cheer rose up and they all stampeded for the deli, earning more disapproving looks from bewildered passerby. Albert never let go of Race’s hand.

Mr. Jacobi was clearly regretting his life choices as the newsies stumbled in and began wolfing down food like there was no tomorrow. After nearly two weeks of only bread crusts every few days, a ham sandwich was pure heaven. “Oh, my God,” Albert practically moaned. He closed his eyes to savor the taste. “This is the best thing I will ever eat, ever.”

“Oh, really?” Race was clearly amused. Albert hummed happily and went to take another bite before hesitating. He didn't like the mischief in Race's tone. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at Race, who was innocently munching on a fresh peanut buter cookie. A fresh peanut butter cookie that had been resting on the edge of Albert's plate mere seconds ago.

“Racetrack Higgins, give me my fucking cookie.”

Race lifted his gaze to meet Albert’s, smirked, and shoved the remaining quarter of peanut butter heaven into his mouth like a sugar-addicted chipmunk. Albert’s jaw dropped in shock and Race took advantage of the pause, sliding off the deli bench and dashing out the door.

“You son of a—” Albert scrambled up and followed in hot pursuit, doing his best to ignore the raucous laughter of his friends. Race slipped down alleys and wove through crowds, leading Albert on a whirlwind chase until they reached an old construction site. The place had been abandoned for years, but thick canvases still hung from the scaffolding and created hidden alcoves for anyone who knew where to look.

Race took a sharp turn ahead and Albert poured on speed. _I’ve got you now, you adorable bastard,_ he thought triumphantly as he swung around the corner, only for a familiar hand to dart out and grab his bicep. “Wha- _mmph_.” Albert’s momentum spun him around sharply and into Race’s long arms. Warm lips met his own and every word was silenced as he instantly relaxed, draping his arms around Race’s neck and pulling him closer.

A contented sigh slipped through Race’s lips as Albert gently ran his fingers through his golden curls. They broke apart after a few moments, both breathing heavily from the chase. Albert’s lungs burned, as did his legs, but the buzz in his whole body was worth it. “I missed you,” Race said with a small smile as he bumped their noses together.

“You have no idea,” Albert muttered. “But did you _have_ to steal my cookie?”

Race snort-laughed and Albert fell in love all over again. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.”

“Ah, shaddup.”

“Make me,” Albert said as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is that how this is gonna go?” Race laughed, playfully drumming his fingers on Albert’s ribs.

“It sure is, pretty boy, I haven’t seen you in—” Race leaned forward and captured Albert’s lips in a soft kiss.

“You talk too much.”

Albert responded by planting a deeper kiss on Race, walking them back slowly until Race was up against the half-finished wall, and pouring every ounce of _I missed you_ into his actions.

“I love you,” Race murmured as they broke apart. His gaze was a bit unfocused and his cheeks were flushed; Albert took some pride in his handiwork.

“I love you, too.” They stood in silence for a while, just drinking each other in, with Albert’s face hidden in the crook of Race’s neck and the blond’s chin resting on his hair.

Race absentmindedly began rubbing his thumb along Albert’s shoulder blade. “I tried to write you back, y’know.”

“What?”

“After your letter from…” he trailed off and swallowed heavily. “I wrote back, but Jack said it was too dangerous for Specs to take another trip and when it was finally safe—when it was finally safe, he couldn’t get to you. Any of you.”

Albert looked up in surprise. “When was this?”

“I dunno, four days ago? None of you were awake, and Specs couldn’t see a thing. He came back empty-handed and everyone got real scared.” Race shook his head. “But you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“Exactly.” Albert returned to his previous position and squeezed Race around the middle. “I don’t plan on leavin’ anytime soon, neither, so don’t be gettin’ nervous on me.”

“Yeah, you better not. D’you think Davey and Jack’ll get worried?”

“ ‘Bout what?” Albert peppered Race’s neck with tiny kisses.

“About us, idiot,” Race tilted his head to expose more skin. “We’ve been gone for a while.”

“Eh, let ‘em worry. We’ll be back eventually, and there’s a lot of catchin’ up to do.”

“I like the way you think.” Race’s voice hitched as Albert reached his jaw, but the breeze whistling loudly through the pipes above muffled the sound. His cold hands slid under Albert’s shirt and rested on his hipbones, sending a jolt through Albert’s, well, _everything_. He began to unbutton Race’s threadbare overshirt, his breaths coming in short pants between kisses, when—

“There you a—OH MY GOD!” Race, in a panic, shoved Albert off him and accidentally tripped him, sending the redhead to the ground flat on his back with an _oof_ and a cloud of dust. Buttons stood ramrod straight in the arch that had previously been covered by a thick piece of cloth with both hands clapped over his eyes. Elmer was right behind him and his mouth hung open in an almost comical fashion. “I’m so sorry, we’ll just…go.” Buttons uncovered his eyes and awkwardly saluted Race as he steered Elmer away. “Um, carry on.”

Race sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Hate to break it to you, but you kinda ruined the mood.”

“Right. My bad,” Buttons winced. “Al, you okay?”

“Fine,” Albert groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground and spat out some dirt. “Whaddya need?”

“Uh, Jack was wonderin’ where you went, so he sent us to go look for you.” Elmer suddenly became very interested in his feet.

“I told you he’d worry!” Race said, rounding on Albert.

“This was your idea, asshole!”

“You were the one who was _kissing_ my _neck_!”

“Guys!” Elmer interrupted. “I could really go without the gory details.”

“Like you’d know the ‘gory details’ any other way,” Race shot back as he re-buttoned his shirt.

Buttons didn’t look Albert in the eye for the entire half-hour walk back to the Lodging House and death was a preferable option to the awkward glances Elmer kept shooting them. Everyone else was still exploding with energy from the strike, so few gave Albert and Race’s rumpled appearance a second look. Jack, however, raised a questioning eyebrow at them which was humiliating enough.

They stayed up well into the night, running on pure adrenaline. Card games were won and lost, Romeo nearly lost an eye in a game of chicken, and all in all, Albert had never been happier. The Refuge was never mentioned once; they all silently agreed this was a time for good memories and for fun.

The feeling of cool water on his face as everyone cleaned up for bed was a shock: he actually felt somewhat _clean_ after washing, as opposed to just spreading the dirt around. Changing into his backup shirt from the grime- and blood-stained one he had worn for eleven days straight was an even greater luxury. And, of course, the best part of the entire experience was finally clambering into the bunk bed with Race.

The mattress was like a cloud underneath Albert’s back and Race’s comfortable warmth was unparalleled. Unlike Romeo, whose bony elbows and knees hit in all the wrong places, Race’s height gave him the advantage of not jabbing Albert in the ribs and thigh, which was a welcome change.

Albert stayed awake long after the others just to listen to the rhythm of breaths and snores alongside Race’s steady heartbeat. The arm Race had slung over his chest tightened slightly. “ ‘S good to have you back,” he muttered drowsily, snuggling closer to Albert’s side. “Now stop thinkin’ so loud and sleep.” Albert smiled and let his eyes close.

The last thing he saw before falling asleep was the light from three lit candles casting a soft glow over Race’s face. He was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! My updates will be super sporadic because I have no planning skills, but most of the remaining chapters are outlined. I will do my best to upload every two or three days, though. Love you!


	7. Chapter 7

**The Day of The Fight**

The fight at the circulation desk had been one of the most terrifying events in Katherine’s entire life. She had heard rumors about Warden Snyder and his thugs, but nothing could have prepared her for the fervor with which the old man attacked the newsies. The panic in the air had been palpable—everything was perfect for a dramatic, action-packed article that would boost Katherine out of the social pages and into the big leagues of journalism.

She just couldn’t seem to write it.

Despite only meeting them once or twice, the newsies had somehow found a way to hold a place in Katherine’s affections. They had everything Katherine so desperately wanted: community, freedom, excitement. She knew she had to write an article that would make them proud and do their battle justice.

 

**One Day After The Fight**

It may have taken eight hours of drafting and a sleepless night, but Katherine finally had a front-page stunner. She hurtled into Jacobi’s Deli with a beaming smile, ready to show Jack and the others just how good at her job she was, only to find a thinned crowd of beaten-down teenagers whose morale was dangling by a thread to one extremely stressed Racetrack Higgins.

Their puffy red eyes and low energy were…unsettling, to say the least. Bruises and scrapes abounded; even little Les had one arm in a sling. Clearly, Katherine’s article was much-needed.

There was no mistaking the frustration that shone on Race’s face when Katherine asked about Jack. “Delancey’s said he took it on the lam, first sign of the cops.”

“Jack don’t run from no fight!” Les protested. One look from Race was all Katherine needed to know the truth, and her heart sank.

“How are you holding up?” she asked quietly as the newsies crowded excitedly around the newspaper.

Race shrugged. One of his eyes was surrounded by an awful yellowish-purple bruise and he winced with every other breath. “Ah, you know me, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Katherine glanced over at the significantly smaller group of newsies. “Where’s everyone else? Looks like you’re missing some of the guys.” Race’s nonchalant expression froze, then crumpled. For a moment he seemed painfully young, hanging on to the last shred of courage he could.

“Snyder took seven of ‘em and Jack…we don’t know where Jack went.”

 _We don’t know where Jack went._ Where he _went_. Jack had left his boys to fend for themselves in the wake of the fight. Katherine pursed her lips. “I see. Look, Race, you newsies are tough. I’m sure the boys are just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Race shook out his shoulders and grimaced at the movement. “I should check on the fellas, make sure they ain’t ripped your nice paper.” In an instant Races broad grin and joking demeanor returned as he strolled over to the group. It was a little scary how quickly he could regain his composure.

After that, the afternoon was full of joy and was a welcome distraction from the previous day. By the time Mr. Jacobi shooed them out for the dinner rush with a fond smile, Katherine had eleven new best friends and an appreciation for spoon fights. “Well, this has been a pleasure, ladies and gents, but I should head home,” she said as they began the walk back to the Lodging House.

The chorus of protests and genuinely concerned offers to walk her home was surprising, as were the copious amount of 'goodbye' hugs. Back home, Katherine was lucky to get a nod of acknowledgment before leaving in the mornings, and she found herself enjoying this style of farewell.

 

**One and A Half Weeks After The Fight**

Days began blurring together in a rush of activity. Jack returned after all and the newsies received confirmation that the boys in the Refuge were alive and well. Katherine spent all her free time brainstorming with Jack and Davey until finally, _finally_ , they had a plan to win the strike.

Of course, Jack had to go and fuck it all up.

Katherine scrambled for a new solution but the shock of Jack’s betrayal cut deep. Her brain kicked into overdrive as she stormed into the Lodging House after the rally and up onto the roof, the newsies parting for her like the Red Sea.

The Children’s Crusade was a last-ditch effort spurred by Jack’s drawings. While he was off counting his money—or so Katherine assumed in her seething state—she sorted through over a dozen charcoal sketches of what looked like hell. _This is the Refuge_ , she realized. _This is where the other boys are being held_. The information hit Katherine harder than she expected and she had to grip the railing for support. After weeks of working alongside the newsies against her father, picturing those sweet, brilliant, defiant goofballs locked up in a place like that was akin to imagining her own siblings in prison.

Jack’s sudden arrival stirred up Katherine’s anger again and thankfully kept her from thinking about it too hard. As it turned out, Katherine’s Plan F was exactly what they needed: with Brooklyn and the other boroughs involved, the Manhattan newsies would be untouchable.

 

**Two Weeks After The Fight**

The Banner accomplished above and beyond Katherine’s wildest dreams and the delight of seeing the seven boys return home more than made up for the workload of the past weeks. The evidence of Snyder’s abuses was clear, and she had half a mind to march up to that greasy little man and give him a shiner to rival the one stretching across Mush’s face. Unfortunately, she never got the chance.

Even after the strike was settled, Katherine spent her evenings at the Lodging House more often than not. Her father was still simmering with frustration and they fought at least three times a week, which made the house unbearable. Besides, sometimes the newsies had information for a new and interesting article that they were just dying to share. Home no longer meant the Pulitzer Mansion.

 

**Three Weeks After The Refuge Closed; Present**

The past weeks had been blessedly uneventful. The Sun had taken note of Katherine’s skill with a story and promoted her out of the social pages, which her allergies wholeheartedly appreciated. September arrived, and with it, the late summer storms that made walking back to her father’s house more difficult than usual.

The newsies were still reveling in their victory, especially since Snyder was in jail and the Delancey brothers were stuck at the circulation desk. There were scuffles here and there, but they were finally safe from outright tyranny.

Katherine was making her way to the Lodging House when she noticed something dark and wet on the sidewalk in front of her. She looked up at the gathering thunderclouds, but there had been no rain that day and something felt strange. Still, she dismissed it as nothing more than paranoia.

That is, until she saw more spots a few feet ahead.

“Dammit, Katherine, why are you so curious,” she muttered as she followed the trail to the mouth of a shadowed alley. The sunlight was fading fast as the storm built, casting half the street in near-darkness. Katherine hesitated, then slipped in, creeping forward slowly as fear built in her throat. _It’s a dead end_ , she thought as she went further. A small, person-sized lump—no, wait, there were two—shifted by the back wall and Katherine nearly jumped out of her skin.

A low groan echoed off the brick walls and sent Katherine’s heart racing. _Katherine Pulitzer, do NOT poke the sleeping bear. Or the person. Or anything you find in a dark alley._

She tiptoed closer.

The person on the ground closest to her was difficult to see as the sun slid behind the building. Rain began to fall and washed away some of the grime on his face. “Hello?” Katherine crouched down next to him. “Are you alr—oh, my god.” The boy tilted his face into the light of the sunset and Katherine leaped to her feet, sprinting for the Lodging House. Her skirts were hiked up inappropriately high, but Katherine couldn’t bring herself to care.

She could have cried as the ramshackle old house came into view. “Jack!” Katherine shouted as she pounded on the door, her whole body shaking. The first roll of thunder rattled the windows. “Jack, open the damn door!” Flashes of blood on the ground and a barely-conscious boy filled Katherine’s mind.

“Katherine?” Jack stood in the doorway suddenly, his face filled with concern. “Take it easy, what’s wrong?”

“Jack, in the alley by Jacobi’s, I saw—I saw—” Why wouldn’t the words come?

“Katherine, what did you see?”

A sob tore from her throat. “Romeo, I saw Romeo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy it's been a long time. My bad, folks, I had to scrap four different chapters. Kudos are always appreciated and I thrive on comments, so let me know if you like this story so far! Love you all!


	8. Chapter 8

“You saw _who_?” Jack was reeling.

“Romeo and—and someone else, I’m not sure who it was. They were over by Jacobi’s and there was a lot of blood.” Katherine struggled to take deep breaths and was flexing her shaking hands.

“Splasher, Mike! Romeo’s in the alley by Jacobi’s,” Jack shouted over his shoulder as he guided Katherine into the Lodging House. “He’s hurt, bring him straight home.” The pair were out the door quick as a flash.

“Jack, what the hell is going on?” Race appeared at Jack’s side.

“Romeo’s hurt and Kath found him. I need you to get everyone in here so we can do a headcount, alright?” Jack glanced around the room. “Elmer, clear a bed and get your med kit. Buttons, grab some water for Katherine so she doesn’t pass out on us.”

“I’m fine,” Katherine took a deep breath and stepped away from Jack’s side, smoothing down her clothes. “You don’t have to worry about me. How can I help?”

“Could you find Davey and Les? I think they’re upstairs, but I don’t want the kid seein’ Romeo bleeding or anything.” Katherine nodded firmly and hurried off in a swish of skirts.

“Hey, Cowboy,” Race hailed his attention from the stairs and inclined his head at the gathered crowd of newsies. Jack did a quick count and came up short. He frowned and counted again.

“Alright, we’re missin’ five, not counting Mike and Splasher. Anyone know who else is gone?”

“I haven’t seen Al since the gate,” Race said, chewing at his lower lip. “He was s’posed to meet Finch this afternoon.”

“I saw Finch walkin’ home about an hour ago,” Crutchie piped in. “Shoulda been here by now.”

“Hey, Mike couldn’t find Ike, either,” Mush said. “Thought he came home early.”

The door slammed open as Jack began to respond and Splasher hurried in with Romeo cradled in his arms. In the corner, Davey flinched and moved to shield Les from the view. “Outta the way,” Splasher shouldered through and Jack saw bloodstains on his shirt. “Mike’s got JoJo, they were a block or so behind me.”

Jack checked out the dirty window but saw only a sheet of water pouring down from the sky. More thunder rolled through. “That’s two down, three to go. Katherine and Davey, take Les upstairs and stay there. Blink, Tommy, check along the river. Specs, you’re the eyes on the roof for any stragglers. Buttons and Smalls, you got the north side and Racer and Snipes have the west.” Cold air blew through the bunk room as the door swung open and shut, leaving far fewer newsies than before. “Everyone else, stay here unless I tell you otherwise.”

The door creaked open once more and Mike appeared around the edge, one arm wrapped around JoJo’s torso. Race was supporting JoJo’s other side. “He was out cold when I found him, I think he took a hit to the head.”

“Thanks, Mike.” Henry took Mike’s place and the smaller newsie all but collapsed, panting from the strain. “Go lay down for a minute, we can handle this.”

“Elmer, Mush, how we lookin’?” Jack moved to the makeshift medic station and winced when he saw the damage.

“Ro’s got some shallow cuts on his shoulder and thigh,” Elmer looked up and clenched his jaw. “And those.” He pointed to an odd pattern of rapidly-forming bruises on Romeo’s cheek. “You know what those are from.”

“Brass fuckin’ knuckles,” Jack growled under his breath. “Oscar, I’ll kill you. How’s JoJo?”

Mush barely spared Jack a glance as he cleaned off the mud from JoJo’s face. “Mike was right, someone hit him hard. Otherwise, he’s untouched.”

“Jack?” Romeo rasped, blinking slowly around the room.

“Hey, Ro, how you feelin’?”

“Been better. Is JoJo okay?”

Jack half-smiled. Even beaten half to death Romeo was still worried about the other boys. “He’s gonna be just fine.” _And if he’s not, the Delancey’s will wish they’d never seen either of you_. “This was the Delancey brothers, yeah?”

Romeo snorted. “Who else? They had a third guy with ‘em, but I couldn’t see him all that well.”

“That’s okay, get some rest and we’ll find ‘em tomorrow.” It was killing Jack to wait around for something to happen, but as long as the other three boys were missing there was no way he would abandon the others. Not again.

The rain was coming down even harder than before and the frequent lightning flashes illuminated the streets. Jack began to worry about the search parties he had sent out. Maybe he should have just gone himself? “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah, Henry?”

“It’s been a while, dontcha think we should—”

“Clear a bed, everyone _move_ ,” Tommy Boy ordered as he and Blink thundered in. They were both soaked to the skin and each had an arm around Finch’s waist. “Jack, he’s been asking for you.”

“Finch?” Elmer snapped his fingers under the barely-awake boy’s nose. “ _Finch_ , can you hear me?”

Finch’s head lolled back and he stumbled a bit as Tommy helped him settle onto a bunk. His lip was split almost to his chin and there was a bruised lump of worrying size on his forehead. With a sharp inhale and a jolt, Finch cracked his eyes open and stared around in confusion. “Where am I? Where’s Jack?”

Elmer knelt next to him. “You’re in the Lodging House, bud. Stay still so I can check that head o’ yours.” He reached up, but Finch shoved him away and scooted backward in terror.

“Who the hell are you people? Where’s Jack? I need to talk to Jack Kelly. He's the leader of the Manhattan newsies.”

“I’m—I’m here, Finch,” Jack stepped forward cautiously and helped Elmer off the ground. The room was dead silent. “What do you need?”

“Jack, I saw them take Albert,” Finch said, his eyes wide with concern and fear. “The, um, the Delaney’s—no, Delancey’s—they took him somewhere. They took Al, he’s the one with red hair, and I _saw_ them but I now can’t remember where.”

“Finch, focus for me,” Jack placed his hands over Finch’s wringing ones. “You saw them take Albert, tell me where.”

“I told you, I don’t know anymore, I can’t remember! I swear I saw it, fuck, I was by the baker’s and then, and then—” Finch grabbed Jack by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “Crates, Sixth and Bowery.”

“Thanks, Finch. This is Elmer, he's gonna take care of you.” Jack jumped up and looked around at the boys gathered. “Splasher, can you—”

“Jack, just go!” Splasher said incredulously. “We’ll be fine.” Jack hesitated for a split second, then sprinted out the door and into the downpour, making a beeline for the Bowery.

The rain made it incredibly difficult to see in the dark and he bumped into more than one unsuspecting pedestrian on the trip over. Up ahead, Medda’s theater glowed brightly. _Sixth, sixth, come on_ , Jack thought frantically as he tore down the sidewalk. Another flash of lightning illuminated the street signs up ahead and Jack skidded around the corner, scanning the area for crates of any kind.

He ducked into side street after side street, squinting through the water in his eyes, but saw nothing. Just as Jack was beginning to think Finch had imagined the whole thing, a large pile of broken-down pallets caught his periphery. Hope bloomed in Jack’s chest but twisted into horror as the gleam of wet leather shone behind them. Leather boots connected to blue-trouser-covered legs, then a torso, and finally an exhausted face half-covered in dull, wet auburn hair. “Albert?”

“Ja’ ?” Albert groaned, struggling to sit up.

“Hey, Al,” Jack said as softly as he could over the pounding of the rain. “Can you walk?”

A hard shiver wracked the boy’s whole body. “Dunno. My foot hurts bad.” Even in the golden light of the theater, Albert’s face was ashen.

“ ‘S okay, I can carry you.” _Hopefully_. Jack bent down and tucked one arm around Albert’s back and the other under his knees. “On three. One, two, three.” He lifted with a rush of breath and a muffled grunt. Albert was as tall as Jack himself and nearly as broad from carrying stacks of papes. “Keep talkin’, I can’t let you sleep until Mush and Elmer give the all-clear. What happened?”

The ground was slick under Jack’s feet and he walked as fast as he could without slipping. He had no idea how long Albert had been huddled in that alley, but his bone-rattling shivers and blue-tinged lips were not good signs.

“Was walkin’ to the bakery to meet with Finch when I heard somethin’, figured I’d check it out,” Albert said shakily. “Delancey’s were whaling on him so I socked Morris in the nose. Led ‘em as far from Finch as I could but then the rain started ‘n I tripped,” Albert laughed. “Went to all that trouble an’ it’s my own damn fault about the foot.”

“Sounds about right for you,” Jack could make out the vague shape of the Lodging House at last. “How’d you get into the alley?”

“Morris dragged me in. They kicked me for a little while, but I think the storm stopped ‘em.”

“Thank God for small blessings, huh?” Jack’s heart broke when his only answer was a shiver and a loud cough.

Albert was quiet for so long after that Jack was afraid he’d fallen asleep after all. “I knew you’d find me,” he said at last in a small voice. “Are we goin’ home?”

“Yeah, almost there.” Jack squinted up at the roof. “Specs! Tell Elmer I found Al!” A shadow flickered high above and moments later the door swung open and bathed the front entry in warm light.

“Over here,” Mush ushered Jack to a corner bed and helped him lay Albert down.

Jack’s arms were burning, but he couldn’t rest just yet. “Anyone find Ike?”

“I’m here.” Ike was wrapped tightly in a threadbare cotton blanket on his and Mike’s bed.

“Good, that’s everyone. Are the search parties back yet? How are the others?”

“Romeo’s sleepin’ and JoJo went upstairs to get some fresh air. Finch and Race are playin’ cards in the other room. The search parties are all back.” Mush twisted a pinkish washcloth in his hands and left the room. “I’ll let ‘em know you found Al.”

Jack turned back to the injured boys and looked them over as Elmer gathered blankets for Albert. It was good that Finch was with Race; hopefully, it meant he was beginning to remember the other newsies. There was a loud commotion in the other room and Race barreled out, Finch hot on his heels. “You found him?”

“Race!” Albert tried to sit up, but Elmer pushed him back down with a stern look. Well, as stern as Elmer could be.

“Are you okay?” Race rushed to the bedside and hovered there, clearly at a loss for what to do. “What happened?”

“I am one hundred percent okay.”

“You have a sprained ankle and were five minutes away from getting hypothermia,” Elmer deadpanned, pointing to Albert’s swollen ankle.

“I am ninety percent okay.”

“It’s late, we should all get some sleep,” Jack interrupted as Race began to mother-hen again. “I’ll let Davey and Les know they can stay the night and make sure Katherine gets home safe. All o’ you should get ready for bed and we’ll talk about this tomorrow evenin’.”

 Few newsies were willing to protest, as they had either been outside searching or inside worrying for close to two hours in addition to a full day of selling. Jack started to go up to the roof when a hand tugged him back. He turned and found Ike at the base of the stairs, on hand still gripping the blanket tightly. “Can I tell you something?”

“Course you can, Ike,” Jack walked back down and leaned on the wall.

“When Oscar and Morris came after me, they weren’t alone,” Ike looked up and braced himself. “Jack, Snyder was with ‘em.”

Jack’s heart dropped into his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos! Your thoughtfulness is what keeps me motivated to update. I love you all and I hope you are still enjoying this story!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Italian and Irish slurs

Race saw the exact second Ike broke the news. There was the tension in Jack’s shoulders, that hitch of breath, the way his hands tightened on the railing as if he was about to throw himself to the roof and hide.

“Thanks for lettin’ me know, Ike,” Jack said at last, releasing his vice grip on the stair rail. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow afternoon, okay? Now go sleep, it’s been a rough day for you.”

Surprise and relief rushed through Race’s body and he slumped against the nearest bedpost, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Jack wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to leave them again. Thank God.

Jack surveyed the bunk room but hesitated as he made eye contact with Race. With a short nod of silent reassurance, he disappeared to the roof to collect the Jacobs brothers and Katherine. Race sat on the edge of Albert’s bed, watching Elmer and Mush flutter between the injured newsies. At least Finch could remember them, now.

An ice-cold hand slipped into Race’s and squeezed gently. “You gotta stop worrying so much,” Albert said softly. His lips were less purple than before, which was a good sign. “Put that big brain o’ yours to better use.”

“Well, you gotta stop gettin’ hurt so much,” Race ran his thumb over Albert’s knuckles. “At this point, I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. How you feeling?”

Albert shrugged. “Sore. Tired.”

“Scoot over, then.” Race shuffled under the sheet and pressed into Albert’s side. Thankfully, Tommy Boy had loaned him a pair of dry clothes so that Albert didn’t get any sicker. “ _Cristo_ , you’re cold.”

“Mmhmm,” Albert hummed sleepily, already half-gone. “You’re warm.”

Race did not sleep well that night. His dreams of running freely through the streets warped into nightmares of the Refuge time and time again until not even Albert’s presence beside him was soothing.

After the fourth time he awoke with a terrified gasp, Race decided sleep was for the weak. Staring at the ancient ceiling with its peeling paint was definitely more intriguing than the thought of going back to dreamland. He took a few shuddering breaths and leaned back into Albert’s chest to anchor himself. _Al’s here, he’s safe_ , Race reminded himself. _He’s safe_. The distant sounds of his friends screaming for his help echoed in Race’s brain as he shoved the nightmares back. The memory of bruises, stark against the freckled skin of Albert’s torso, sent another shiver through Race.

“Hey,” Albert’s voice gently pulled Race to reality. “You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t. You wanna go to the fire escape?”

“…yeah.”

Five minutes and a few stumbles later, Race and Albert were laying side-by-side on a damp metal platform, Albert’s bad ankle propped up on the lowest rung of the railing and hands intertwined between them. “Nightmares are back.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep,” Race sighed. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“Shhhhhh!” Someone hissed from inside. The pair shared a look and dissolved into laughter.

“Sorry,” Race whisper-yelled.

“No, we’re not,” Albert chimed in.

“True. You any warmer?”

“Hard not to be when you’ve got your own personal furnace next to you. Now I’m all wet again, though.” Albert wrinkled his nose and Race fought back a smile.

“We probably should have thought that through.” The distant edges of the skyline were beginning to lighten; sunrise wasn’t far away. “It’s going to be a good day, right?”

“ ‘Course it is.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, you punk.”

“Who you callin’ a punk?”

“I said, _shhhhhhh!_ ”

 

 

“You didn’t leave when Ike told you about Snyder.” Jack nearly jumped out of his skin as Race appeared next to him, letting out a stream of Spanish curses.

“Santo Infierno, Racer, give a guy some warning next time,” Jack adjusted his cap and glanced over. “Of course I didn’t, I learned my lesson. I’ll never do that again. You still pissed at me?”

Race thought for a moment. He had known Jack longer than anyone else—they were practically brothers. “A little, yeah, but I trust you. You know what the right choice is, Jackie. That’s why I follow you.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m almost as old as you, y’know.” Race playfully punched Jack in the arm.

Jack bumped him with his shoulder. “Still a kid.”

“Whatever, you’re a jerk. By the way, Davey was lookin’ for you earlier.”

Jack’s whole face lit up and Race grimaced. Ugh. Love. “Really?”

“Yes, really, Lover Boy.”

“A’ight, I’ll check in with Medda and see if she’s seen Snyder around. Let Davey know I’ll be back in half an hour.” Jack jogged off in the direction of the Bowery.

“Tell ‘im yourself, I ain’t your messenger!” Race shook his head and began the walk home. Lord have mercy. He was about halfway to the Lodging House when he noticed two figures trailing a short distance behind him. “Boys, you really gotta work on bein’ quiet,” he sighed, turning to face the Delancey brothers. “You’re truly awful at sneaking around.”

“No need to sneak if you’re too stupid to notice.” Oscar shot back.

“Ouch, that one hurt,” Race rolled his eyes. “My grandmother could come up with a better insult and she’s dead. How’s about we go our own ways and I kick your ass a different day.”

“No can do, Higgins,” Morris said. “Our boss wants to see you.”

“Who, Snyder? I’ll pass.” Race turned to leave.

“Since when do you run from fights, Guinea?” Oscar sneered.

Race stiffened, his fingers curling. “The fuck did you just call me?”

“You heard me, _Guinea_ ,” Oscar’s lip curled around the slur and Race could feel the blood thundering in his ears.

“You best shut your mouth before it gets you in more trouble than you’re worth, asshole,” Race spun around to face both brothers, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me?”

Morris shrugged. “Ah, y’know, just lookin’ to chat. How’re your friends doing? I thought Os and I did a number on ‘em, but they’re out selling papes already. Guess the lesson didn’t sink in good enough.”

In the blink of an eye Race had lifted Morris off the ground by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. “You listen close and good, you brainless sack of grease: touch my friends again and I’ll soak you so bad you won’t remember your own mother’s name.”

A wide grin oozed across Morris’ face. “That sounds awful. Then I wouldn’t be able to blubber for her like your little pal Romeo did.”

“You fuckin’—” Race threw Morris to the ground and kicked him hard in the side, relishing the sharp crack he heard. _Serves you right_. Oscar’s hands landed on Race’s shoulders and he wrenched away.

“Grab him!” Morris wheezed. “He’s the one we need.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Race looked between the brothers.

“Haven’t you heard?” Oscar’s smile was poison. “Snyder’s got it out for Jackie-boy. Easiest way to get to him is through you.”

A cold feeling washed over Race, like the time Tommy Boy and Mush had thrown him in the East River for mouthing off. He turned on his heel and ran flat out for Medda’s theater, using every bit of his famous speed. He had to warn Jack.

Eight blocks.

Seven blocks.

Six. _They were gaining_. Race chanced a quick look over his shoulder and saw them barely half a block behind him.

Four blocks. Another glance, revealing only Oscar on his tail. _Wait, that’s not_ —WHUMPH.

Race slammed full-speed into Morris’ broad chest as the bigger brother stepped onto the sidewalk in front of him. Race bounced backward into Oscar’s waiting grip, his head foggy from impact.

“Even you can’t run forever,” Oscar snarled as he dragged Race through a maze of alleys. “Morris, he there yet?”

“Yeah, but—” Morris hesitated. He looked downright nervous. “Os, somethin’ felt weird.”

“Shut up, everything’s fine.” The three of them arrived in a shadowy dead end. “We got him, boss.”

“Finally. I thought you two morons would never catch that one.” The voice that had haunted Race for six years seeped from a patch of darkness to the right.

“Let me go, Oscar, I swear to God—” Race strained and fought, but Oscar’s grip was tight.

“Morris, give Mr. Kelly the message. Oscar, make sure he doesn’t run.”

Morris frowned. “What message?”

Snyder stepped out of the shadows, his silver-tipped cane gleaming in the sun. “Tell Jack Kelly to be here in fifteen minutes, or dear Racetrack will never walk again.”

Cold fear shot through Race and he struggled even harder, trying to control his breaths as Morris slipped away. “What?” Oscar sounded genuinely shocked.

“This boy is too quick for his own good,” Snyder stepped closer and Race recoiled. “Better to nip the problem in the bud.” He tapped his cane against Race’s shin threateningly.

“Touch me again and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do, you second-rate nightma—” Race cut off with a sharp gasp as Snyder’s hand cracked across his cheek. He felt Oscar flinch hard behind him. “Jack’ll never give in to you.”

“That remains to be seen. The clock’s ticking, Racetrack. For your sake, I hope Mr. Kelly doesn’t run from me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain America voice: So it's been two months since you updated this fic
> 
> Sorry folks, I know I said I'd update every few days but summer got crazy. Ironically enough, now that school is starting I'll probably update more to keep my sanity. I love you all and hope you like it!


	10. Chapter 10

_Bad idea, bad idea, BAD FUCKING IDEA_. Pain flashed through Albert’s entire leg as he hobbled from shadow to shadow behind Jack and Morris. Had Morris demanded that Jack come alone, ‘or else’ ? Yes. Had he pulled Jack aside and warned him that Race was in serious danger? Also yes. Was it a good plan for Albert to silently follow on a sprained ankle? Absolutely fucking not.

But there was no way in hell that Albert was about to let Jack charge in to face Snyder alone and outnumbered, especially when Race’s safety was on the line. He would end up doing something stupid and Race would be upset and everything would go downhill very, very fast. Albert might not be able to protect either of them with his injured ankle, but he could damn well try.

 _Fifteen minutes_ , Morris had said. Fifteen minutes until Race was hurt or killed. Fifteen minutes to follow the newsies’ sworn enemy into unknown territory.

Morris took a sharp turn and Albert flung himself against the wall to his right, heart pounding. Sneaking around Jack in the Lodging House was difficult enough—his brotherly instincts would act up whenever he sniffed even the slightest hint of mischief—but Albert hoped the looming danger would be enough to distract him.

New voices mingled ahead as the trio delved deeper into the maze of alleyways. Snyder’s oily sneer ricocheted off the walls as Race spat a stream of creative cursing. _That’s my best friend_ , Albert thought as pride ballooned in his chest.

“Mr. Kelly, how nice to see you again,” Snyder said. Albert crept along, trying to find somewhere to hide where he could see the action. His shoulder bumped against something cold and hard; a drainpipe? No, a shaky metal ladder. With a mental fist-pump, Albert reached up, grabbed the lowest rung, and began to climb. The whole thing trembled beneath Albert’s weight as he hauled himself up as quietly as possible. Snippets of conversation floated up, but all Albert’s attention was focused on making sure he didn’t fall to his death or worse, alert Snyder of his presence. “—up to here with your arrogance and disrespect,” the warden snarled at Jack as Albert reached the rooftop.

“Funny, I could say the same for you.” Jack’s voice was tenser than it had ever been. “Look, Snyder, I’m here now. Let Race go.”

The roof wasn’t exactly stable, but it would do the trick. The shingles were old and slick with the previous night’s rain; this was going to be a nightmare to navigate with a bum ankle. Albert carefully lowered himself to his stomach and edged forward until he could look down on the dead-end below. Snyder’s hands were clenched on his cane and his face was an ugly purple color. Oscar and Morris stood side-by-side, with Race between them. Jack was still at the mouth of the alley, and he looked _angry_.

“We’re going to make a deal, Jack,” Snyder swung his cane idly, but his knuckles were white on the silver head. “I have my thugs free your precious Racetrack in exchange for a promise.”

Jack tilted his head to the side. “What kinda promise?”

“You go down to the police station with Oscar and confess to a crime of my choosing.” Snyder’s shark-like smile showed all his teeth. “Believe me, it won’t be a pretty one. Morris and I will hold your friend here until Oscar confirms the deal.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you refuse, or back out of the deal in any way, Morris will break this boy’s legs,” Snyder thought for a moment. “No, shatter them.”

Albert clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a shout of alarm. Jack went completely still.

“Don’t do it, Jack,” Race said immediately, his eyes wide. “You’ll be in jail for the rest o’ your life. It’s a trap.”

“Quiet, you,” Snyder raised his cane and Race flinched back. A vibrant red mark on his cheek shone in the setting sun and bile rose in Albert’s throat.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” Jack asked shakily. His resolve was cracking.

“You took everything!” Snyder flushed a deeper red. “My reputation, my Refuge, my money!”

“You were torturing _children_!”

“I was teaching them a lesson.”

“You’re insane.” Jack shook his head.

“Justice, payback, karma, whatever you want to call it, I’m getting what I deserve.” Steam practically poured from Snyder’s ears. “So will you take the deal?”

Jack looked back to Race, who was trying to pull free of the Delancey brothers’ grip. Albert could tell his decision was made. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly.

“No!” Race shouted. Albert could see the tears gathering in his eyes. “No, Jack, you can’t do this.”

“Race, they’ll break you,” Jack said, his whole presence a plea for forgiveness.

“I don’t care!” With a nod from Snyder, Oscar and Morris released Race and he went barreling toward Jack, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “Jack, you promised you wouldn’t leave. You promised.”

“Cuff him, Morris.” Albert gritted his teeth at Snyder’s obvious glee.

“I won’t let you,” Race stepped in front of Jack, his hands curling into fists. Albert knew he would have done the same thing in Race’s shoes, but looking at it from above was so much worse.

“Get out of the way,” Morris took a threatening step, cuffs clanking in his hand.

“ _No_.”

“Racer, go home,” Jack stepped around and pushed Race gently toward the street.

“I ain’t lettin’ you rot in jail for me. It’s my job as second-in-command to get you outta these messes,” Race shoved Jack’s hand away. “ ‘Sides, I already told Morris I’d kick his ass today.”

“It’s your job to lead the boys when I can’t.” There was no way Albert could scramble down the ladder fast enough to get both Race and Jack out of there without someone noticing, and tensions were too high to make sure nobody got caught in the crossfire. “That’s what a second-in-command is for.”

“Then it’s my job as your brother to get you outta this,” Race rounded on Jack and Albert really wasn’t sure if he was going to hit him or hug him. “And as your brother, I ain’t letting you go. I don’t care if they break every damn bone in my body.”

There was that particular brand of Racetrack Higgins fierceness. It was what drew Albert to him in the first place, years ago in the Refuge. It was the gateway to months of pining and denial that his feelings for Race were anything but platonic. Surely the grin he couldn’t hide whenever Race appeared was just friendship. The way he melted when they shared a bunk in the winters, sharing warmth until the sun rose was just Albert being his usual touch-starved self. His quickened heartbeat when Race smiled, really smiled, was a simple oncoming heart attack.

But here Race was, with fire in his eyes, the same fire Albert remembered seeing that damp November day when the pair were arguing one minute and kissing the next. He hated seeing it now.

“How noble,” Snyder drawled. “Now if you don’t mind, there’s an awful little jail cell waiting for you, Mr. Kelly.”

The half-second after Albert shifted his weight, he regretted everything. There was a soft crack under his hip, followed by a splintering sound, and finally a huge crash as a section of the roof gave way and tumbled to the street below. Albert heaved himself backward just in time and went momentarily blind with pain as his sprained ankle hooked around the top ladder rung and jerked hard.

Six jaws dropped. The silence was deafening.

“You!” Oscar stared upward at Albert, who was half-hanging over the edge.

“Huh?” Jack and Race both tilted their heads back.

“Um,” Albert managed as a final shingle clattered down. “Oops?”

“Deal’s off, Kelly,” Snyder growled and yanked Race backward. “You were supposed to come alone.” His cane collided with the small of Race’s back and sent him to the ground, dazed with pain. “Morris, do it.”

“Race!” Jack lunged, but Oscar grabbed his shirt and held him back, slipping a set of handcuffs on in the blink of an eye. Morris hefted a large iron pipe off the ground and placed his foot on Race’s back to hold him down. Snyder wrestled his flailing legs until he was almost completely immobile.

“He didn’t know!” Albert yelled as he limped down the ladder, careful not to take apart more of the roof. “Jack didn’t know I was here, it’s not his fault.” He landed heavily and his entire leg buckled, forcing him to grab the wall to support himself. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I said _do it_ , Morris,” Snyder was still struggling to keep Race still.

“We had a deal,” Jack said, fear written on his face.

“Now that your little pal,” the warden gestured to Albert. “knows the plan, he can blab to the police before you get there. Break his legs, Morris.”

The pipe rose.

“Al, go home,” Race’s whole body was shaking. “Go home, I’ll be okay.”

“Morris, this ain’t right, » Jack said desperately. “This ain’t how we settle fights.”

“Jack’s right,” Albert cut in, hopping forward. “We throw a few insults, some punches, a few kicks. But this? We all know this is too far.” Pieces f the puzzle began clicking together in Albert's brain. “It wasn’t even you who stabbed Romeo, was it? It was Snyder.”

“Just get it done, Mo,” Oscar snapped. “Hit him and we can go.”

Doubt seeped into Morris’ face and he lowered the pipe. “I-I dunno, Oscar. This ain’t our style.”

“Screw the style, this is our chance!”

“You idiots,” Snyder seethed, his hands tightening enough to make Race hiss in pain as they dug into his shins. “I should have known you would be too weak. Consider your contract extended another two years, and the debt as well.”

“You slimy son of a bitch!” Oscar glared daggers at Snyder.

“If you break the boy’s legs, I will let you go tonight. That is a promise.”

Morris muttered something under his breath.

Snyder’s gray eyes flashed upward. “What was that? Speak up!”

“I said, leave us the hell alone.” Morris’ hands were shaking from how hard he was holding the iron rod.

A crazed laugh tore from Snyder and unease filled the alley, sending shivers down Albert’s spine. “Even if I end your contract tonight, you’ll never escape what you’ve done, you—” A stomach-turning _thwack_ interrupted Snyder.

The old man froze.

His mouth twisted.

He toppled face-first onto the dirty cobblestones, a pool of blood gathering around him.

“Oh, my God,” Albert whispered hoarsely. Morris was beginning to hyperventilate.

“Morris, I think—I think you killed him,” Oscar dropped Jack’s arms and went to his brother’s side, eyes never leaving the stone-stiff body of Warden Snyder. “You can drop it, Mo.”

The pipe hit the ground with a rattle loud enough to shake everyone from their stupor.

“We gotta get out of here before the cops find him,” Jack said at last. Oscar tossed him the key to the handcuffs absentmindedly. “Thanks.”

“Fuck off, this changes nothing,” Oscar took Morris, who was ghost-pale, by the elbow and led him out of the alley. The second Morris’ foot was off his back Race scrambled to his feet, his legs trembling so hard his knees knocked together. “We’ll still beat your asses at the circulation desk.”

Jack and Oscar exchanged a few words after that, but Albert tuned them out as he rushed to Race and engulfed him in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut as Race all but collapsed in his arms. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

Jack cleared his throat behind them. “We should head back ‘fore the bulls come to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Sides, everyone’s gonna be wonderin’ where we went. You good to walk, Al?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Albert wrapped an arm around Race’s waist and Race leaned into him; they stayed that way for the whole walk back, each supporting the other. There were a few questions thrown their way from the others when the trio arrived, but all attempts at conversation were rapidly shut down and Jack declared lights out within minutes, promising an explanation in the morning.

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Race said softly as they curled up together. “When Morris—when I was on the ground, all I could think was ‘please, don’t let Jack and Al see this. Don’t let them watch me die’.” He took in a shuddering breath and ran a hand through Albert’s hair. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“Me, neither.” There was a loud meow from the windowsill, and everyone groaned.

“Albert, the cats!” Tommy Boy sighed.

“I got it, I got it.” Albert rolled out of bed and quirked a questioning eyebrow at Race, leading him outside and around to the back, where a small flock of cats was waiting patiently by the window. “Ladies and gents.” Albert mock-bowed before reaching to refill the milk bowls, which earned a short burst of laughter from Race.

“Ladies and gents? Really?” Race shook his head as a tiny orange kitten with white paws wandered over and began batting at his shoelaces. “Hey, stop it, I need those.”

They bickered playfully and dangled old newspaper twine for the cats until the sun rose and the circulation bell tolled, signaling a new day. A new day not free from danger, but at least free of one walking nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is going to be the second-to-last chapter of this fic and I cannot thank you enough for reading this fic. I loved writing it and sharing it with you, and from the bottom of my heart I need to thank all of you who commented and left kudos for your continued support. It was the feedback and encouragement that kept me motivated and I could not have done it without you. To all the readers: if there is anything you would like to see in the final chapter, please comment below and I will do my best to include it! I love you all!


	11. Chapter 11

Newsies had difficult lives. This was common knowledge; everyone who saw the grimy children on the sidewalk, waving papers in the air and shouting themselves hoarse understood that there was little glamor to be found. Winters were brutal and even curable illnesses often became a life-or-death coin toss simply because there was no money. Summers burned and broiled until even the newsies’ most threadbare shirts couldn’t cool them down. Seen as the dregs of the city, newsies had to grow accustomed to wary passerby and looks as dirty as their clothing.

But the newsies would be damned if they didn’t at least have a family.

Who else in the entire stinking city knew the satisfaction of selling every pape they bought? Who else could savor every bite of a day-old muffin because they _earned_ every last cent it cost? Who else could go home at the end of every day to their best friends?

Warden Snyder was gone forever, and the Refuge with him. The Delancey brothers continued to antagonize the newsies—or the other way around, depending on the day—and more often than not those scuffles ended in bruises and sparks of adrenaline burning through any exhaustion.

Without the threat of Snyder looming over their heads, a new kind of freedom pulsed in the Lodging House: nobody had to take extra caution when passing by dark alleys or worry about getting caught out after sundown anymore. They could stay out later and run a little wild through the streets of Manhattan, whooping and hollering and causing a general ruckus.

In time, the scars from the Refuge began to fade.

The deadly swoosh of a cane cutting through the air toward Romeo’s head became the butterfly-soft catch of breath in Specs’ throat as he leaned in slowly, one palm resting on Romeo’s cheek.

Finch’s memories came back faster than anyone could have predicted: maybe he was a quick healer, or maybe the other newsies were too deeply connected to him to be simply forgotten for long. In poker, his only ‘tell’ was rubbing his bad wrist.

Mush’s pulsing headaches and bouts of dizziness became fewer and further between as days turned to weeks turned to months until the stabbing pain just…disappeared.

Ike’s blisters scabbed over, peeled, then scabbed again because he wouldn’t stop picking at them, dammit, don’t you want to be identical again, bro? Soon, only a smattering of pale dots remained.

Henry’s softness returned as he filled out and regained his status as “Best Hugger in Manhattan”. The little ones especially rejoiced in the change, as Henry could once again pick them up and pull them in for a snuggle full of shrieking giggles.

Crutchie’s leg healed, plain and simple. Not enough for him to ditch his namesake or run about, but enough that he could stand and move and, on one memorable occasion, waltz around with Katherine on her birthday.

And then there was Albert. His ankle healed easily, thank goodness, and before long he was up and running like normal with Race. Whether the pair was racing to the circulation desk or dashing from the theater before any of Medda’s employees could catch them caught up in each other backstage, Albert didn’t care. He cared about the sun beating down and the wind burning his cheeks red. He cared about the three lit lanterns at night that chased away the shadows, and the wide-open windows with a perfect view of the stars. He cared about Race’s arm slinging over his shoulder as they strolled down the street, easy grins on both their faces.

The Refuge would always be there in their darkest nightmares, but it retreated further and further with each howl of laughter, each sunny smile, each gentle kiss. The life of a newsie was dangerous, and the furthest thing from luxurious, but in those moments it shone like pure gold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments--without you, this would not have been possible. To those of you who did not leave kudos/ comments, seeing that you read this always made my day! It's absolutely insane to think that the weird idea I had last March is now a published story that some people actually *like*, but hey. Life's funny that way. Thank you again for sharing this experience with me. I love you all!


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